


Sweet Affectionate Moments Meme Answers

by robocryptid



Series: Tumblr Prompts and Drabbles [2]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Drabble Collection, First Dates, First Kiss, Fluff, Happy Ending, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, Love Confessions, Love Letters, M/M, Making Out, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Slow Dancing, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-27
Updated: 2018-04-07
Packaged: 2019-04-08 12:56:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 8,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14105856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/robocryptid/pseuds/robocryptid
Summary: A collection of prompt responses I wrote for Tumblr-user lustanddai's Sweet Affectionate Moments Meme. Fluff, fluff and more fluff! Originally posted to my Tumblr.1. McHanzo: Slow Dancing/Teaching the other something new2. McHanzo: Caught in a Storm3. McHanzo: A Hope We Don't Get Caught Kiss4. McHanzo: A Drunken Kiss5. McHanzo: Exchanging Letters6. Gencio: A First Kiss7. McHanzo: Tending an Injury8. McHanzo: A Scared Kiss/A Relieved Kiss9. McHanzo: A Reunion Kiss10. McHanzo: Getting Caught in the Act11. Gencio: Tending an Injury/Catching the other before they fall12. Gencio: A Hot Kiss





	1. McHanzo: Slow Dancing/Teaching the other something new

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Bluandorange](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bluandorange/gifts), [umbrellacam](https://archiveofourown.org/users/umbrellacam/gifts), [bloomingcnidarians](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloomingcnidarians/gifts).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [bluandorange](https://bluandorange.tumblr.com/) asked: _24 or 28 PLEASE for McHanzoooo_
> 
> 24\. Slow Dancing  
> 28\. Teaching the other something new

“Oh no, you ain’t gettin’ outta this one,” Jesse said on a laugh, and he dragged Hanzo to his feet, pulled him off to the side of the room, away from some of the others.

“You can’t make me,” Hanzo griped, but he followed the pull anyway, alcohol buzzing warmly through him.

“You danced with Lena, you got no room to deny me one now.”

“I allowed Lena to show me how she dances. There is a difference.”

Jesse snorted, and he stumbled a little, but his hands were sure. His arm slipped around Hanzo’s waist to pull him close, then up higher, just between his shoulders, and he got Hanzo’s hand cupped carefully in his metal one.

Everything about it was ridiculous. The music, chosen by Lúcio, was utterly inappropriate for whatever this dance was that Jesse wanted from him, and too many of them were too drunk for dancing anyway.

But Jesse insisted, and he was hard enough to deny when Hanzo wasn’t pleasantly buzzed and feeling light and happy. He laughed again, and Jesse grinned at him. “Hold on,” he said, and fetched his hat. He scooped Hanzo back into his arms. “Now we’re ready. Alright, just do what I do.”

“Why should I trust you to lead?” Hanzo teased.

“‘Cause you ain’t ever two-stepped before,” Jesse said. “‘Sides, I’m trustin’ you not to step on my feet.” Hanzo snorted, and he let Jesse lead him, though he watched their feet carefully. “You can’t do that,” Jesse laughed. “Look at me, I gotcha.”

Hanzo let Jesse guide him, listening to Jesse’s rhythmic  _one-two-three-four_  counts instead of the music itself, watching the way his mouth formed the words. It was easy, though, just as Jesse had promised, and if they stumbled into each other’s toes a few times, Hanzo felt confident blaming the alcohol.

Then, inevitably, the music changed. He had to watch Jesse count again to pick up the slower rhythm, but he kept trying to move faster than the music allowed. “You are drunk,” Jesse snorted out. “No reason this should be hard.” Hanzo glared a little and purposefully kicked at his foot. Jesse laughed and dragged him closer, slid his arm down to Hanzo’s waist and rested their joined hands over his heart. “Alright, how ‘bout this one? Anybody can do this.”

He only swayed and held Hanzo close, and he was right that this was easy too. Jesse ducked his head a little, rested his cheek against Hanzo’s temple, and whatever the song was, Jesse knew it. He hummed along, chest vibrating under Hanzo’s hand, and Hanzo leaned into it, shut his eyes and let Jesse lead him.


	2. McHanzo: Caught in a Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: _For the prompt thing McHanzo in 22 and/or 24?_
> 
> 22\. Caught in a Storm

Jesse had the  _worst_ goddamn luck. He fell for a coworker. He fell for a coworker who’d  _tried to kill his brother_ , tried to kill  _Jesse’s friend_. He fell hard and fast and stupid, just like he always did, and just when things were looking up, like maybe this wouldn’t all end in pain, the sky opened up and all Jesse’s plans went to shit. Again.

“It’s  _fine_ ,” Hanzo said, laughing.

“It is  _not fine_ ,” Jesse grouched, but he took the opportunity to huddle close under the awning of the restaurant.

“I have been rained on before,” Hanzo told him. “I like the rain.”

“Even when it near drowns your date?” Jesse asked. 

Hanzo snorted. “Even then.” He looked Jesse over, and it was hard to stay miffed when Hanzo’s eyes got all hot like that. “It suits you,” he said.

Jesse pushed wet hair out of his eyes. “That so?”

“I don’t think the maître d’ agrees,” Hanzo said, eyeing the man at the door.

“We have reservations,” Jesse said, loud enough for the man inside to hear. He seemed unbothered by it. Jesse was clearly not high on his list of folks to impress. Jesse wondered, briefly, if it would’ve changed anything if he knew what kinda family Hanzo came from.

“We could go elsewhere. I don’t mind,” Hanzo said, and Jesse turned his attention back to him.

It was a little unfair, if he was being honest. Hanzo looked good even now, dripping wet as he was. It was like he was  _made_  to be in the rain. Jesse thought about the dragons, about the way the hairs on his arm stood up when they came, the way the wind howled all around them, and he thought maybe Hanzo  _was_ made for the rain. Much as the dragons set him on edge, here and now the thought put him at ease, and he laughed a little.

“Yeah? Wouldn’t mind that. I might be a little rough around the edges for these folks,” Jesse said.

Hanzo laughed at that, and Jesse’s stomach gave a somersault. Hanzo touched his hand, the metal one nobody ever touched on purpose, and pulled him back out into the rain. “Then they are missing out. Let them.”


	3. McHanzo: A Hope We Don't Get Caught Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [umbrellacam](https://umbrellacam.tumblr.com) asked: _for the prompt meme - McHanzo 15? :3_
> 
> 15\. A Hope We Don't Get Caught Kiss

It was new still, what they had. They hadn’t  _talked_ about it, exactly, but they had sort of silently agreed it shouldn’t be public knowledge until they were a little more certain, a little steadier on their feet. 

Besides, Hanzo thought, however inappropriately for a man approaching his forties, it was  _fun_ to have a secret only the two of them could share. There was a thrill that ran through him every time he caught Jesse’s eye across the room, every time someone nearly noticed that Jesse had made him laugh. 

It became a game, of sorts, to see what they could get away with. 

He kissed Jesse in the locker room after a practice, fast and careful, and he left him there gaping like a fish out of water.

Jesse kissed him outside on the sky bridge, pulled him just inside the shelter as the sun set and covered the flavor of sake with whiskey and smoke instead.

He kissed Jesse again  _during_ a practice, watched him hit six clean shots practically at once, then grabbed him before he could reload, dragged him down by the beard and licked the taste of gunpowder from his mouth.

Jesse kissed him in the kitchen by the coffee pot, a quick, shy thing that should have gone unnoticed, were it not for the little click of Hana’s camera.

She, of course, immediately sent it in a mass message to the entire team. It seemed the time for secrets was up. 

Jesse shrugged, and Hanzo kissed him again to the music of the coffee pot singing and Hana pretending to wretch.


	4. McHanzo: A Drunken Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: _oh man those prompts are all so good. could I ask for 4 (a drunken kiss) or 27 (accidentally sleeping in)? whichever strikes your fancy more. for mchanzo, o course._
> 
> 4\. A Drunken Kiss

They worked well together, well enough that they’d finished the mission far ahead of schedule. Pickup wasn’t for another several hours, and McCree had the brilliant plan to celebrate.

It was dangerous, Hanzo thought, to drink alone in a cabin with McCree. He was too much: too big, too loud, too  _present_. He took up too much space, filled the air around him with his voice and his laugh. Hanzo had to drink more just to handle it.

That was a danger too, though. It made him loose and less careful, prone to laughing and  _blushing_ at McCree’s audacious flirting. 

“You are,” Hanzo said with a great deal of effort, “an incorrigible  _flirt_.” 

McCree only laughed at him, swayed a little closer on the couch. Their knees were touching, and Hanzo found it difficult to care. “So I’ve been told,” he said with a shrug. Then he looked sideways at Hanzo, gave him a grin that slipped to one side, showed off a sharp incisor. “You’d be surprised how far it gets me with intel.”

“I’m sure I would be,” Hanzo said. Tried to say. Some of it may have been mumbled.

McCree seemed to hear it anyway, and he laughed again, low and rumbling. It curled sweetly in Hanzo’s stomach, seemed to cuddle up with the whiskey until they were inseparable. “Just ‘cause you’re immune don’t mean ev’rybody is.” 

“There’s no accounting for some people’s tastes,” Hanzo said, careful to enunciate this time.

McCree was too warm, radiating heat like a furnace. He leaned closer, and his arm across the back of the couch slipped onto Hanzo’s shoulder. It was hard to say if it was an accident or not. The arm was too warm, too, but Hanzo wasn’t ready to shrug it off. “What’s your taste then?” 

Hanzo thought about it, what to say. He knew where this could lead, where McCree so  _obviously_ wanted it to lead. “Tall,” he said, and McCree gave him that sideways grin again. “Handsome. A good smile.” He made a show of thinking about it. “Competent.” McCree seemed to preen a bit, and Hanzo smirked at him. “Well-groomed,” he added, and he tugged on McCree’s beard with a little scoff. “Someone who can dress like a real person.” He eyed McCree’s clothing and didn’t bother to hide his disdain. McCree’s grin faltered a little. “And someone who is  _not_ an indiscriminate flirt.”

McCree ran the tip of his tongue over that tooth, and he let out a little laugh. He inhaled sharply, seemed to gather himself. “It ain’t  _indiscriminate_ ,” he said after a moment, speaking slowly like he too had to think about how to pronounce the words. “I discriminate plenty.” Hanzo snorted at that, and it seemed to give McCree a little more courage. “But I could… pay closer attention to the habit. With a little incentive.” There it was again, the little grin.

“Incentive?” Hanzo asked, and he could feel McCree’s hand on his bicep, thumb tracing slow circles there. He seemed to sway toward McCree without consciously trying to, guided by his hand and the warmth coursing through his veins.

“Incentive, like…” McCree swallowed, and his voice when he spoke again was low, threaded itself through Hanzo’s pulse. “Like someone important to me lettin’ me know it put him off ‘cause he had some  _reason_.” 

“Oh,” Hanzo said, unable to find better words.

“Wouldn’t want him thinkin’ he ain’t special,” McCree said, and he was close, too close and too warm and taking up too much space again. 

“Oh,” Hanzo said again, wavered toward him, pulled and pushed alike by McCree’s warmth and his hand and his voice and the way his lips moved around the words. He closed the gap then, small as it was, and he felt as much as heard McCree’s quiet gasp, the way he seemed to catch his breath and hold it. Hanzo curled his fingers back into McCree’s beard to hold him close and brushed their lips together. It was sweet, sweeter than he had expected from someone so loud and brash. 

It hung there for a moment, their lips clinging tenderly together, before McCree surged into it. His cool metal hand touched the back of Hanzo’s neck, sent him shivering hungrily forward, hands grasping and clutching until their bodies reflected the the aching clasp of their mouths. 

It couldn’t last, not as drunk as they were, not when their pickup arrived in the form of Lena hammering on the door. But on the jet, he watched the way McCree’s hand kept brushing over his own red mouth, the way his eyes kept flicking back to Hanzo and the way his smile tilted when he did it, and he knew there would be time for more later.


	5. McHanzo: Exchanging Letters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [bloomingcnidarians](https://bloomingcnidarians.tumblr.com) asked: _25\. Exchanging Letters (or texts) for McHanzo please!!_

Jesse knew he was a little old-fashioned. If Hanzo hadn’t figured that out yet from the cowboy duds or the flowers or the cheesy old rom-coms, he was probably never going to. It was probably alright; Hanzo seemed a little old-fashioned too. Jesse wasn’t sure if Hanzo even  _liked_ the letters, but there was no way a quickly texted  _be safe_ properly conveyed half of what Jesse felt when either of them had to leave.

So he wrote. He started small, the first few times.

A post-it note left on Hanzo’s desk:  _I miss you. – JM_

A ripped sheet of paper in Hanzo’s bag: _Come home safe. – JM_

A postcard saved from a mission, tucked safe in Jesse’s bag until he got back to Gibraltar:  _Costa Rica’s as beautiful as the pictures. We’ll have to come back together. – Jesse_

Hanzo said nothing about them, but that meant he didn’t tell Jesse to stop either. So he wrote a little more.

On the back of a photograph of hyacinths:  _I tried to bring some home, but Ana told me they mean “sorrow” and I thought that was all wrong. Pretty though, aren’t they?_

On the flyleaf of a book he found:  _I only got halfway through, but it made me think of you. Want to finish it together?_

Scribbled into the margins of his notes during a meeting:  _I’m distracted enough when you aren’t here, but when you are, I can’t even focus. I can’t think about anything except what we’ll talk about when it’s over._

Sometimes he even got notes back, though they were hardly elaborate.

On the bedside table:  _Coffee’s ready_.

On the back of a napkin:  _Meet me in 5._

On the bottom half of a ripped post-it note:  _I missed you too._

In four months together, Jesse wrote twenty-three notes and letters, and he didn’t have to think too hard about the twenty-fourth. He slipped it into Hanzo’s room before he left for another mission, armored it with a bowstring and new fletching, with a bottle each of sake and whiskey, with two good cigars and a vase full of bright yellow flowers. 

_Hanzo,_

_Another day, another mission. You have nothing to worry about though. I have every reason to stay safe, knowing what I’ll come home to. Hang onto these things till I get back, alright?_

_I’ll see you soon._

_I love you._

_xoxo,  
Jesse_

His heart got lodged in his throat as he left it, wondering if it was too much too soon, if he was supposed to have said it aloud or sooner. He didn’t know much about how to make these things  _last_. But he reminded himself of Hanzo’s own notes, of the way he smiled in the mornings with the sunlight creeping through the blinds, and he made it off base without taking anything back. 

The mission was over quickly, and Jesse’s heart beat too fast on the return flight. Hanzo had only texted once, the  _be safe_ that wasn’t quite enough. But he greeted Jesse in the hangar, kissed him hard for everyone to see, and he dragged Jesse back to his room. 

“I have something to show you,” Hanzo said, and he pushed the box from his desk into Jesse’s hands. It was beautiful, carved and painted to hold something precious, and Jesse had never bothered to peek. He’d assumed it was either decorative or too private to pry. When he opened it, it was filled to the brim with his notes, every postcard and torn scrap of paper lovingly preserved in a box made for treasures. When he glanced up again, Hanzo was smiling carefully, holding a neon green post-it out to him:  _I love you too_.


	6. Gencio: A First Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [bloomingcnidarians](https://bloomingcnidarians.tumblr.com) asked:
> 
>  
> 
> _*gently slides in* 8. A First Kiss for Gencio, perhaps?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I Was Not Prepared for how invested I got. This is nearly 1,000 words of sweet feelings and Gencio.
> 
> This drabble now has [gorgeous art](http://bloomingcnidarians.tumblr.com/post/173003500707/gently-slides-in-8-a-first-kiss-for-gencio) by [bloomingcnidarians](https://bloomingcnidarians.tumblr.com)! (Also linked within.)

Genji lived his first twelve years without any kind of  _urges_ at all. He lived the next thirteen in pursuit of each and every one of them, thoughtless, careless,  _reckless_ in all he did. For three years after that, the only urge he knew how to follow was rage, but his recklessness had been the same. For another seven, he learned to temper it all, to nurture the parts of himself he had ignored and set aside his recklessness and his anger, until they both resided somewhere safe, carefully wielded at only the right times and places, their sharpness dulled by his discipline.

And for exactly two months, fourteen days and six hours after that, he wrestled with something else, something like those earlier urges but a lot more confusing. He had thought, after thirty-five years and a thousand meditations, that he understood himself. He thought he should have some  _wisdom_ by now. And he did, more or less; he imparted reasonably good advice to his teammates, in particular to his woefully,  _willfully_ ignorantbrother. He sat with his master with an open mind and heart. He did his best to bring peace and relief to those around him, to kill his enemies only when necessary, and to do it quickly to prevent further suffering. Even his mischievous streak could be rationalized; it brought a lightness to the team, made even Hanzo smile occasionally.

It made Lúcio smile too, and this was the source of all Genji’s problems. 

The first time they met, Lúcio looked him over and declared him  _cool_. This wasn’t new, not really, but Genji had found himself flustered and uncertain, an old insecurity fluttering to the surface; his body was always a fascination, and he worried it was the same here. “Green’s my favorite color,” Lúcio went on, reached up to pat him on the shoulder, right at the lights. 

“You’re my favorite cyborg,” Lúcio told him, not long after.

“I’m the only cyborg you know,” Genji said.

“Right, that makes you one of a kind,” Lúcio answered with a laugh, and Genji was grateful for all the mask could hide.

Another time: “Your brother says you loved the arcade as a kid. You still into video games?” Genji was, and they played together, with and without Hana.

Another: “Are you able to  _taste_? Like if I offer you brigadeiro, you gonna be able to appreciate it?” Genji could, but he did not care for chocolate. He ate it anyway, because Lúcio had made it, and Genji knew well the need to share the good parts of  _home_.

Another: “McCree said you have shitty taste in music, but he says the same about me. Have you been holding out on me?” Genji had been, but he didn’t after that. He  _liked_ Lúcio’s music, and he said as much. Lúcio made him more playlists than he knew what to do with after that.

Genji sat on the couch, watching Hana at her games while he wrestled the same old pang. If he were still in his old body, he thought he would know what to do, or at least he could be  _less_ lost. Back then, he had never had much in the way of feelings for another person. He had known plenty about what to do with his body, how to talk just about anyone into bed; he had stories that made even McCree blush back in Blackwatch. None of that prepared him for how to deal with  _this_ , though, or with this newest frustration with his body. 

Everyone thought it was  _cool_ that he was a cyborg, but he had yet to meet a person who  _wanted_. A normal person, anyway; there were always the omnic fetishists, but he didn’t want that either. And under the metal were the scars. He had been handsome once, had  _known_ exactly how handsome, had known with uncanny precision exactly who agreed or how to convince them to agree. He might still be, somewhere under all the scarring, but he no longer had the sense for others’ attraction that he’d once had. 

Lúcio himself interrupted his brooding, settled onto the other end of the couch and propped his feet up. Lúcio  _was_  handsome, Genji thought, had the kind of easy confidence and  _relentless_ friendliness that would have made him attractive even if he hadn’t been. But he was, and that made it all somehow worse. Genji watched him stretch, watched the play of muscles in his bare arms as he stuffed them behind his head. “What’s new, ninja?” he asked, tilting his head to look at Genji.

Genji was grateful again for the faceplate, for the way it let him hide his roving eyes. “I listened to your album. It was good,” he said, and Lúcio’s eyes lit up. “Your last one was better, though.”

Lúcio laughed, as he always did. “Yeah, we rushed the production on that one. Did you have a favorite song?”

Hana made a sound that was somewhere between a shriek and a growl, and she pushed her controller away from her. “I’m  _trying_ to  _concentrate_  here. I have a high score to beat!” She glared over her shoulder at them. “If you’re going to flirt, go do it somewhere else.” If Genji had not already been watching him so carefully, he would have missed the way Lúcio’s cheeks darkened. His own, where he could feel them, were burning hot. Lúcio started to speak, and Hana cut him off. “ _Go_. I’m  _busy_.”

Genji laughed it off, chalked it up to Hana’s annoyance and eager imagination. Lúcio stood, though, and he reached out a hand to Genji. “Let’s leave the diva alone,” Lúcio said with a laugh, and Genji let himself be dragged to his feet.  Lúcio pulled his hand away, made a funny face with his lips pressed tight together. 

They walked, aimlessly and without really discussing it, until they wound up outside. They continued to walk, and Genji told him how he liked the album; even if it  _was_ a weaker presentation than Lúcio’s last album, the best songs on it were some of his best songs, period. “I especially liked the one – forgive me if I mispronounce it –  _flor de cerejeira_?”

Lúcio’s cheeks went flushed again, the red just showing through his dark skin. “Yeah, I– I’m glad.” Lúcio looked away, made a strange face, then stopped walking to look directly at him. “I made that one for you.” Genji went still, uncertain. “You told me those stories about Hanamura, and I was thinking about them again one night, and I–” He cleared his throat. “That song’s yours.” Genji still said nothing, and Lúcio looked uncertain, himself. “Sorry, man. Tell me if that’s too much or if  _I’m_ too much or–”

“If what is too much?” Genji asked.

Lúcio looked at him for a minute, and he laughed, looked a little bashful. “I  _like_ you. You’re my favorite person here, and… I don’t know, if that’s weird for you, I can back off, but I kind of thought you might…” His cheeks puffed up and he blew out a long stream of air. “I thought you might like me too. Am I way off base here?”

Genji paused, and he thought again about what he would do when he was younger. Laugh him off, probably, or use the opening to sleep with him and ignore him the next day. Neither suited him now. “No,” he said, and he heard the hiss as his body vented his sigh. Lúcio didn’t flinch away from it. “No, but I have not done anything like this in a very long time.” 

Lúcio nodded, and he smiled again. His nervousness made Genji feel strangely more relaxed; he wasn’t alone in this new territory. “That’s alright,” Lúcio said. “I’m not pushy. Or expecting anything. I just  _like_ you.” 

“I like  _you_ ,” Genji said, more firmly this time, and Lúcio laughed again. “I have never done this before,” he said, amending his earlier statement.

Lúcio looked at him then, a smile on his face that Genji recognized as  _flirting_. With Genji. “I’m not sure I believe that. I saw those pics of you when you were younger.”

Genji flushed. “I was not a very nice person back then. Especially not to people who liked me.”

Lúcio shrugged, but he seemed to take Genji’s meaning. “Yeah? You’re nice enough now,” he said with a smile, and Genji caught himself smiling too. Lúcio shifted his weight. “Okay, here’s the thing.  _Normally_ this is the part where I’d ask you to dinner or something, but I know you don’t like getting stared at in public, and I’m not real excited about getting recognized while I’m on a date either, so I’m not really sure what you wanna do? But if you want to go somewhere, we could do that. Or we could hang out here. Or… really, I just like spending time with you, so I’m cool with whatever you want, and you could cut me off  _any time now_ –”

“What about a walk? Like this one?” Genji asked, and Lúcio laughed again, ducked his head down to look at his shoes. 

So they walked, and they talked, and nothing  _really_  felt all that different, because Lúcio was already pleasant to be around. He already made Genji feel warm and light, already set off strange fluttery sensations in his stomach. It wasn’t all that different save for the way Lúcio tangled their fingers together. Genji could feel the heat of his hand through the receptors there, and Lúcio didn’t seem bothered at all by the metal or mesh of his fingers. 

They stopped again, eventually, down on the beach where Genji could  _feel_ the salt water in the air overworking his cybernetic parts. He looked at Lúcio and decided not to care yet. “Did that count?” Lúcio asked.

“Did what count?” 

“Our walk. Was that good enough as a date?”

Genji laughed, and he curled his fingers around Lúcio’s. “Yes.”

“Good. Great.” Lúcio grinned, and he looked a little shy again, pushed his free hand up over his hair and gave it a tug. “If this were a normal date, this is where I’d try to kiss you, but I don’t know what you–”

“Yes,” Genji said again. His whole face felt hot. He wondered if he should pull off the mask, but Lúcio didn’t seem to care, just put his hands carefully on either side of Genji’s face and pressed his mouth against the plate, right where Genji’s cheek would be. 

Genji held his breath, then vented it out in a rush. He held Lúcio’s hands in his own, guided his fingers to where the mask unlatched. Lúcio’s fingers were quick and clever; he got it in one try, and Genji kept his eyes shut as the mask came off, felt his stomach flutter with nerves again.

Lúcio carefully pulled the faceplate from his hands, traced a thumb over Genji’s scarred cheek. Genji was torn between shying from the touch and leaning into it. He did neither, only stood frozen. Lúcio leaned in again, pressed careful lips to the corner of Genji’s mouth.

“This okay?” Lúcio asked, pulled back just enough to speak. Genji opened his eyes to look down at him, searching his eyes for any sign of hesitation. But Lúcio only looked back, dark eyes neither concerned nor afraid, searching only for permission. 

Genji smiled a little, ducked his head down and kissed him back, properly and square on the mouth this time. This, at least, he remembered how to do, and Lúcio laughed, didn’t shy away from the scars on Genji’s lips. He leaned closer instead, though he made himself hard to kiss with his lips pulled into a wide, generous smile. [Genji tried anyway, kissed him a dozen times until the smile faded long enough for Lúcio to kiss him back again.](http://bloomingcnidarians.tumblr.com/post/173003500707/gently-slides-in-8-a-first-kiss-for-gencio)


	7. McHanzo: Tending an Injury

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: _Number 26 with mchanzo perhaps? love me some injured bois ;^; <3_
> 
> 26\. Tending an Injury

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I might've missed the mark on "affectionate" a little bit here, heh. They're affectionate for grumpy old murderers???

“Hold  _still_ a minute, will ya?” Jesse snapped, and Hanzo just  _glared_ at him. He did go still, though, the moment Jesse got both hands on him. “You’d think you’d never been hurt before.”

Hanzo scowled, but he quit fighting it, which was honestly a blessing. He’d been squirming like a cat Jesse was trying to bathe. After a moment under Jesse’s prodding fingers, Hanzo seemed to decide the whole scene was beneath him, and he stared at the wall like he was gonna command it to open for him.

“It ain’t that bad,” Jesse said after some prodding. It was a nasty gash, but it didn’t seem to affect his mobility at all, and the bleeding had already slowed.

“I’m  _aware_ ,” Hanzo said, and he turned that look on Jesse. It made his blood run hot, a little, Hanzo looking at him like Jesse was some kinda disobedient servant.

“Well, woulda gone a whole lot faster if you’d just  _let me_ ,” Jesse griped right back. “I ain’t gonna bite. Just tryin’a keep you from an infection.”

Hanzo breathed out hard through his nose, but he stayed still while Jesse cleaned him up, sat on his wobbly stool like it was a throne and didn’t bother to speak to him. Eventually, Jesse got the blood cleaned off his arm, and he dug around for the first aid kit they had stashed away in this safehouse. 

He knelt on the floor and smeared the whole gash with ointment, probably too much. Hanzo looked away again as Jesse began to wrap it all in gauze. “You done bein’ a turd?” Jesse asked.

Hanzo snorted at him, and Jesse watched that lordly expression almost break into a smile. “I have no idea what that means.”

“Means you dunno how to let anybody take care of you,” Jesse grumbled. He tried to keep his hands steady and gentle now that he didn’t have to fight Hanzo just to keep him still. 

“I am accustomed to tending my own wounds,” Hanzo said, and the bite was gone from his voice. Jesse glanced up; Hanzo was watching his hands work. 

“Yeah, well. You’re on a team now. Got people to look after ya.” Jesse cleared his throat and risked another glance up. Hanzo caught his eye this time, and Jesse couldn’t for the life of him decide what he was seeing. “There,” he said as he fastened the gauze. He ran a hand over it to make sure it was on smooth. “You gonna let me get your hand, too, or are we gonna fight again?”

Hanzo snorted again, and his lips twitched. “You may as well,” he said, and Jesse nodded, took care bandaging that over too. He could feel all the callouses as he worked, could feel the shift of Hanzo’s wrist and the little bones in his fingers. He swallowed a little, probably focused a little too hard on his task. “You have nice hands,” Hanzo said, quiet enough Jesse mistook it for his own thoughts at first.

Jesse glanced up, and if his eyes were working right, Hanzo looked a little flushed. “You too,” he said just as quiet, almost like it was a question. 

“Where did you learn to do this?” Hanzo asked. 

Jesse let his hand go, watched him flex his fingers to test that the bandages would stretch. “Picked it up here and there,” he said with a shrug. “Get plenty of practice in our line of work.” He glanced again at Hanzo’s face, and he laughed just a little, pulled another cloth out. “You got some blood,” he said, and Hanzo went perfectly still again, let him carefully clean it away from his temple.

It didn’t seem to come from anywhere in particular; it probably wasn’t his. Jesse tried to be thorough, though, and gentle just in case it  _was_ coming from a wound he hadn’t caught yet. Hanzo shut his eyes, and Jesse hesitated for only a moment before he cupped his face carefully, dragging the damp cloth slowly over his nose and across a sharp cheekbone. 

Jesse pulled the rag away, and he swallowed hard. Hanzo’s eyes fluttered open halfway, dark gaze on him. “Is that all?” Jesse asked, and he started to pull his hand away. Hanzo caught him by the wrist, and even injured he had a grip that felt like it could kill a man. 

Jesse froze. Hanzo’s eyes flicked over Jesse’s face, and he seemed to come to some decision, lips curling into a smirk. “I may have bruised my ribs, if you would like to check.”

“Nothin’ I can do about that now, if you did,” Jesse said. Hanzo still had Jesse’s wrist in his hand, and Jesse’s thumb seemed to move on its own over the line of his jaw.

“Still,” Hanzo said, his smirk growing bigger, “you should check.”

“Okay,” Jesse agreed, starting to catch on. Hanzo released his wrist and shrugged out of his other sleeve. Jesse held his breath as he watched the fabric pool around Hanzo’s waist. It took a force of will to look back up at his face. Hanzo still had that little smirk, looked like he was  _waiting_ for something. “Looks fine,” Jesse said. He reached out, trailed his fingers up from Hanzo’s hips, felt over the bump of each rib where he could. 

Jesse thought again of a cat, though this one wasn’t hissing and spitting; Hanzo arched into his touch, for all the world like he was being  _pet_ , like Jesse’s metal hand wasn’t cold as hell and raising goosebumps on his skin. Nothing about this seemed like it should have been a good idea, not with a teammate, not here or now, not with  _this_ teammate. But Hanzo’s knees parted and Jesse leaned in between them, Hanzo’s hand cupped the back of his head and Jesse let himself be guided closer, Hanzo’s lips touched his and Jesse was pretty sure it was a  _great_ idea. 


	8. McHanzo: A Scared Kiss/A Relieved Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: _6 or 7 for mchanzo?? ❤_
> 
> 6\. A Scared Kiss  
> 7\. A Relieved Kiss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I felt like this kind of got a little of both in there! There’s some angst (and injury + mentions of blood, but nothing too graphic) before the sweetness.

Hanzo hadn’t thought about it, really, but if you had asked him to, he would have told you this:

McCree was unshakable. Permanent. He was steady and sure; he knew when to be hard, knew when to bend so he didn’t break, knew how to laugh it all off when it was over. He even knew when to indulge the shadows behind his eyes – never too much, never at the wrong times, just enough to let him go on with all the other things.

Even when Hanzo first arrived, when he liked nobody at all, when McCree was too much and too protective and too pushy, Hanzo had known these things. When they became friendly, if not exactly friends, Hanzo had still known it. When McCree propositioned him, a little drunk and a little forward and a little inelegant about it, when Hanzo said  _no_ , he had still known and admired it. (It’s what made it easy to go back to  _friendly_ , after all.)

McCree was permanent. He was  _supposed to be_ permanent. Until Hanzo realized he wasn’t at all, was just as breakable as any other flesh and bone. 

* * *

Hanzo found him amidst the rubble, a mess of dust and blood. There  _were_ enemies, but they were no match for the fury of Hanzo’s dragons, no match for the fury of Hanzo himself. In the eye of the dragons’ storm, Hanzo knelt by McCree, helped him out from under a huge piece of concrete.

He wasn’t broken. Not exactly. He could walk, at least with assistance. Hanzo hauled him to his feet, and he should have stopped there, if he had any sense, but he didn’t. Instead he used McCree’s stumbling momentum to pull him close, to drag his head down, to express all his fears with the pressure of his mouth on McCree’s. 

He had thought McCree was unshakable and immovable, and he’d said  _no_  imagining that there would be a time, later, when he would be more ready to say  _yes_ , more deserving of it. But McCree wasn’t permanent; he was steady and sure and strong, but he was human too. 

Hanzo let him go before backup arrived, left McCree confused and breathless with a storm in his eyes to match the one that had ravaged their enemies. He left him alone on the jet and in the hangar and in the medbay, because it wasn’t his place, not really, not when McCree had so many others who could care  _without_  causing turmoil.

Hanzo was unable to entirely banish himself though. The worry still nagged, made him need to know more. McCree caught him lingering in the hallway just past the medbay, caught him by the arm to take him to another, caught him up against a wall and didn’t ask for an explanation. (Hanzo gave one anyway, and McCree didn’t ask whether it was the  _no_ or the  _yes_ that Hanzo explained.)

“I was afraid.”

“I know.”

“I was afraid to lose you.”

“I know.”

“I don’t deserve–”

“Nobody in this world gets what they deserve. If they did, we’d be out a job. What do you  _want_?”

Hanzo was out of words. He answered with another kiss, lips burning his explanation onto McCree’s mouth. Hanzo explained himself with lips and tongue and a hand on McCree’s collar. McCree kissed back, held Hanzo close and soothed his fears. It should have been Hanzo offering comfort, but he could only take, could only feel the flood of relief and the strong, steady certainty of McCree’s heartbeat under his hand.


	9. McHanzo: A Reunion Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: _#5 McHanzo for the prompt thing if you wanna?_
> 
> 5\. A Reunion Kiss

Hanzo left the Orca with heavy steps. The mission had been  _frustrating_  in a way missions often weren’t. Nothing had gone quite right, and their intel had been bad, and some of the terrorist cell had gotten away, and it was honestly worse than if they had found nothing or if they’d had a particularly hard fight. 

Jesse wasn’t there to greet him. Not that Hanzo had  _expected_ him, exactly; he couldn’t be certain whether their relationship, as it were, had progressed to the point that Hanzo could expect things of him at all. But he glanced at Satya and Fareeha, who embraced openly, the relief enough to break through even Satya’s usual hesitations over such public displays. She looked  _happy_ , and Hanzo only felt the strain of his exhausted limbs, the ache at the small of his back from where he’d sat too long and too awkwardly on the carrier.

He debriefed with Winston and let Dr. Ziegler look him over before he headed back to his room, intent on a shower and perhaps a long sleep. He opened the door to find Jesse standing on the other side, caught as if in mid-stride. 

“Hey,” Jesse said, his smile somehow both nervous and blinding. Hanzo took in his disheveled state; his hair was a mess, as if he’d spent hours running his hands through it. 

“Hello,” Hanzo said stiffly, uncertain what to  _do_ with him. He entered fully and set his things aside.

Jesse pressed up against his back, arms loose around his waist, and Hanzo relaxed into it. “Heard the mission went bad,” Jesse muttered, nosing at his hair. “I was worried about you.” When Hanzo didn’t answer, Jesse sighed into his hair and pressed a kiss to the side of his neck. “You hurtin’ or anything?”

“No,” Hanzo said, and he turned to face him, careful not to dislodge Jesse’s arms around him. “You waited for me here?”

Jesse huffed out a laugh, pawed at him again and got that cold metal hand curled around the back of Hanzo’s neck. “Yeah. That okay? I can go, if you need some space.”

“Stay,” Hanzo said. “I didn’t know. You weren’t there when we arrived, so I wasn’t sure…”

Jesse pet a hand over his hip. “Is that what you want? I can do that. I just didn’t know.”

“Oh.” Hanzo held his gaze for a moment, then smiled wryly as he felt something shake loose inside him. “I missed you too.” Jesse beamed. “And yes, I want… that. And I  _am_ sore.”

Jesse laughed at that. “Couple of old messes,” he muttered, and Hanzo laughed back. Jesse ducked his head then, and Hanzo met him halfway, sighed into it as their lips touched. He caught Jesse by the chin, ran both thumbs up the sides of his jaw, delighted in the softness of his beard. 

“Welcome home,” Jesse said with a smile as he pulled away, and something soft and light uncurled in Hanzo’s chest.


	10. McHanzo: Getting Caught in the Act

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: _32\. Getting Caught in the Act_
> 
> I assumed based on my usual that this was meant to be McHanzo. It is also very, very silly.

Hanzo was punctual to a fault, a habit ingrained in him for nearly four decades. He was also less than fastidious about checking his text messages. Jesse was, of course, quite the opposite.

Hanzo arrived at Jesse’s room exactly ten minutes early for dinner. Normally this wasn’t a problem; it just meant that Jesse would have to wrap up whatever he was doing while Hanzo watched. This time, though, Jesse didn’t even answer.

It was rude, perhaps, but he had been in Jesse’s room enough times that Hanzo didn’t even think before he punched in the code and entered. There were clothes laid out on the bed, but no Jesse and nothing else out of the ordinary save for strange  _sounds_ coming from the bathroom.

The back of Hanzo’s neck prickled, and he moved to the bathroom door, more than a little concerned until he heard… well. Jesse was fine. More than fine, it seemed.

Hanzo’s brain got stuck on the image listening to Jesse conjured, and he was too slow to react. The door opened followed by a rush of steam, and Hanzo went wide-eyed, caught eavesdropping. Jesse looked similarly caught, damp cheeks flushed and eyes huge.

They stared at each other for a moment, wearing nearly matching expressions of shame. 

“I didn’t know you– What was… that?” Hanzo finally managed.

Jesse seemed to decide, abruptly, that he would refuse to be ashamed. He squared his shoulders. “What? You ain’t ever heard Cher before?”

Hanzo snorted quietly. “You have a nice voice,” he finally said, then eyed Jesse in his towel. Perhaps dinner could wait.


	11. Gencio: Tending an Injury

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ghostielanturn asked: _For the sweet affectionate meme, when you get the time of course, could you please do 26 or 31 for either Genji and Lucio or Genji and Zen?_
> 
> I asked, "Why not both?" (prompts, not pairings, alas)
> 
> 26\. Tending an injury  
> 31\. Catching the other before they fall

“What were you  _thinking_?” Lúcio asked, laughing a little. He helped Genji get the helmet off, and Genji sighed. The air in the base didn’t really  _move_ much, but it was still cooler than inside the helmet.

“I was thinking ‘wow, it would really suck if my boyfriend broke his leg doing  _stunts_ in the middle of a battle’,” he griped back good-naturedly, and Lúcio laughed again.

“That would have really sucked,” Lúcio agreed, grinning a little. “Thanks for breaking my fall.” Lúcio pressed a kiss to Genji’s forehead and pet a hand through his hair, and Genji found it hard to even  _pretend_ to be irritated after that. “Alright, lemme see what I’m working with.”

Genji did not pout when Lúcio’s hands began unlatching the armor, but he came close. Lúcio’s hands in his hair – or anywhere, but especially there – were always a treat, especially after a whole day with the helmet on. He kept still while Lúcio worked off the piece over his shoulder, and he tried not to respond as Lúcio’s gentle fingers trailed over his bare arm. This was work stuff, right now; he could show his appreciation for the rest later.

“Any of that hurt?” Lúcio asked.

Genji snorted. “No.” He knew there were bruises, but nothing worse, and even those senses were dulled enough.

Lúcio hummed to the quiet music as he worked, hands careful on his skin, and Genji could feel it soothing him. Lúcio seemed to decide that none of his injuries were anything the music couldn’t handle. He pulled the toolset out next, and he started over, hands and eyes searching for anything out of place. 

Genji did his absolute best not to squirm, and he could tell Lúcio knew. Lúcio was very plainly fighting a laugh, cheeks just barely pinched in where he was biting them. “Do you  _like_ tormenting me?” Genji asked finally.

“Aww, the opposite,” Lúcio said, finally letting out that laugh. “Believe it or not, you’re a pretty good patient. Even if you wiggle.”

“You would wiggle too, if we switched places,” Genji huffed.

Lúcio pressed another kiss to the corner of his mouth, where he might have, okay, been pouting a little bit. “You’re not wrong. You ready for me to look at the leg?”

Genji nodded, and Lúcio’s sure fingers found the hidden catch to open the panel on his thigh. He had done  _something_ to the knee, bent it all wrong when he’d caught Lúcio. Lúcio hummed again as he worked, the little tools clicking quietly. Genji couldn’t really feel most of it, so he just watched Lúcio work, smiling softly at the top of his head.

He hadn’t come here knowing how to do this; he had learned for Genji. He said it was easy, that he’d spent years fixing all his own audio equipment, that he’d later built his own from scratch, experimented until he developed the healing tech, then tinkered some more. The mechanics weren’t all that different, he said. But Genji had seen him  _tired_ for more than a few weeks, up late studying as if Genji wouldn’t notice it. He had seen Angela’s research literature and schematics when Lúcio hadn’t thought to lock his tablet. 

Lúcio’s hands were just as careful here as they were on skin and muscle. It didn’t hurt his leg at all, but Genji’s chest felt warm and light and fond. He dug deep for the patience to be still and quiet, to let him work. 

Finally, Lúcio set the tools aside and closed the panel again, ran his fingers over it to be sure it had closed smoothly. “How’s that?” he asked. 

Genji bent his knee, careful not to bump Lúcio’s nose in the process. “It moves right,” he said. “Thank you.” He smiled as warmly as he knew, hoped Lúcio understood it was for more than just this time.

“Any time, babe,” Lúcio said, moving in closer. “Maybe not too often, though,” he said with a grin, just before Genji straightened in his seat and kissed him, got an arm carefully around his waist to hold him there. 

They got more than a little carried away, Lúcio kissing back sweetly with his palm careful on Genji’s cheek, thumb pressed into the hinge of his jaw. He got his other hand into Genji’s hair again, petting softly through it, short nails just scraping lightly over his scalp until Genji sighed and tightened the arm around his waist.

Lúcio pulled away then, breathed out a quiet laugh. “Might wanna finish this somewhere that  _isn’t_ the medbay,” he said. His stomach gave a quiet rumble. “And uh, maybe after some food. I’m  _starving_.” 

Genji laughed, pressed one hand to his own face for a moment. “Of course. Of course. We’ll have time later.”

“Yeah, we will,” Lúcio said, beaming at him.


	12. Gencio: A Hot Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: _If ur still doing the sweet moments prompts, how about nr. 2 for gencio bc ur first kiss gencio fic was AMAZING and hella cute_
> 
> 2\. A Hot Kiss. Let us hope it lives up to that claim.

They took it slow. Baby steps.

Being friends had been easy, and this was easy too. But it was something Genji had never done before. The hand-holding and the cuddling and the sweet, careful kisses had already lasted longer than anything Genji might have previously called a  _relationship_. 

He would not have called any of those  _relationships_ , though. At thirty-five, this was his very first that remotely deserved the title, and he intended to savor every second of it. Lúcio was unfailingly patient, seemed to enjoy it just as much. 

It had been an unspoken agreement at first, but once Genji had finally asked, it made sense. Lúcio was already a bit of a romantic, but it seemed the life he’d led before had not always lent itself to moments of stillness or quiet. So Lúcio was content to move just as slowly, both for Genji and for himself, which made it easier.

Genji had lived so long without these needs that he didn’t fully recognize them until they became too much. He watched Lúcio after a practice, his shirt clinging to his body, damp with the same sweat that gleamed on his dark skin, and it hit him so hard his vents rattled with the exhalation.

Genji arrived for their usual movie night to find Lúcio had only freshly showered, his skin still gleaming just a little, and it reminded him of that moment in the gym. Their usual movie night became a little awkward, if Genji were honest, and he knew it was entirely his own fault. The problem with never having done any of the sweet, slow parts before was that he had no idea how anybody made the switch from that to all the rest, or how to combine the two. 

He sat on the couch next to Lúcio, leaning on his shoulder, and he felt foolish. This was the part he was supposed to be good at; he might be ten years out of practice, but he’d had  _a lot_ of practice. He stared at the screen, unseeing, until he finally decided he was being an absolute idiot. 

He turned his head, glanced at Lúcio, and pressed a kiss to his shoulder, right on the frog tattoo. Lúcio let out a quiet little grunt, but he was smiling, so Genji did it again, let his lips linger this time. 

Lúcio glanced at him, still smiling a little. “Hey.”

“Hi,” Genji said with a grin, then leaned closer, pressed another kiss between shoulder and neck. 

“Oh,” Lúcio said, as if this was all he needed to understand.

Genji pressed dry lips to the base of Lúcio’s neck. “Too fast?” he breathed.

He felt Lúcio’s hand slide up his side, fingertips tripping over the knobs of Genji’s spine. “Not at all.”

Genji smiled, mouthed another kiss and another and another up the side of his neck, each careful and lingering, until Lúcio let his head fall back against the couch, left himself open and vulnerable to Genji’s mouth. Genji could feel the jump of Lúcio’s pulse under his lips, could smell his herbal soap and the skin underneath. He pressed another kiss, this one a little wetter, just below Lúcio’s ear, heard him sigh again.

He slid his hand down, let his fingers brush along Lúcio’s ribs, along the hard line of his stomach. Genji mouthed over his jaw, felt the scrape of stubble slowly forming there, and Lúcio turned to meet Genji’s lips with his own. 

It took him by surprise enough that he pulled back just an inch, inhaling sharply through his nose. They had both taken their time for so long, and Lúcio had been so patient, that  _this_ hadn’t occurred to him: Lúcio wanted too. He had his eyes open, thick lashes trembling as he searched Genji’s face in this little space between breaths. 

Then Lúcio got a hand around Genji’s neck and breached the distance between them, and Genji joined him eagerly, lips parted before they even met. Genji was insistent and demanding  _more_ with every careful shuddering breath, with every slide of lips or flick of tongue.He didn’t know if he pulled or Lúcio pushed, but he wound up on his back on the couch, Lúcio’s weight over him and hands roaming.

It turned out he didn’t have to choose between sweet and slow or fiery and wanting; it was entirely possible to have both.


End file.
